Mona Simpson

Too many times I'd left him reaching for me, from a babysitter's arms. "Am I still a mother?" I asked myself... What parts of the day could I cut out and still give him enough? Paul never asked himself that. He thought he was a great dad.

I eventually made the reunion with my father that I'd used as a default daydream throughout my childhood, but by then, we'd both outgrown the only relationship we could have had to each other. I was over 30 by the time I met him again and no longer needed a father.

I didn't know much about computers. I still worked on a manual Olivetti typewriter.

These stories depressed me. Love ruined people's lives, the way our parents said drugs could.

Maybe she__ always wished to be beautiful and didn__ quite dare to, because she could tell that people didn__ say she was and more attention was given to other women, but she still had a frail hope that there__ been a mistake and she was after all.

But would I have chosen to be Paul? I'd miss Will too much, the feel of his shins.

And even if you hate her, can't stand her, even if she's ruining your life, there's something about her, some romance, some power. She's absolutely herself. No matter how hard you try, you'll never get to her. And when she dies, the world will be flat, too simple, reasonable, fair.